


Your sex is on fire

by defractum (nyargles)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Consent, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 17:10:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2436443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyargles/pseuds/defractum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am a sexy beast,” pronounces Enjolras when he’s finally calmed down enough, even though the occasional stray giggle escapes him. “Rawr.” He makes the cat hands and everything, and giggles all over again. He’s so cute, Grantaire wants to put him in a box. In a box that he can just occasionally open and coo at how cute he is. He’s not sure Enjolras would fit in a box.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Enjolras and Grantaire attempt to have stoned sex, and quote more song lyrics than is strictly necessary.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Your sex is on fire

**Author's Note:**

> A [short prompt fill](http://defractum.tumblr.com/post/99697883990/for-the-fic-giveaway-e-and-r-being-p-high-on-pot) for [deadpokerface](http://deadpokerface.tumblr.com/)for my fic giveaway!

Grantaire is trying to be suave, but it's difficult when Enjolras is imitating a koala and trying to convince him to be the tree. The fact that they've managed to stumble up the three flights of stairs to Grantaire's attic room is probably a miracle.

“Shhhhh,” whisper-shouts Enjolras. “They'll hear us.”

They tiptoe like cats, like _ninja_ cats across the floor. Except, it's probably a nightingale floor because everything creaks, but at least ninja cats and nightingale floors come from the same country.  “Shhhhh,” says Enjolras to the floorboards.

“You are so stoned,” says Grantaire in wonder, somehow managing to steer them around the mounds of clothing and books and rubbish and plates he meant to clear away, or just through them, same thing really.

“Am I though?” asks Enjolras, rubbing his nose across Grantaire's t-shirt.

“Yesssss,” says Grantaire. “Yeee-eeees.”

“I have a secret,” says Enjolras solemnly. He leans forward, his eyes huge until they almost tip over backwards onto the bed. “You... are... just as stoned.”

“I,” says Grantaire graciously, or as graciously as he can as Enjolras flops them over onto the bed, making the pillows bounce back up, “I am better at hiding it.” He’s had experience. He’s gone to lectures stoned, turned up at work and Les Amis meetings stoned.

“Pish,” says Enjolras, as if it's actually a real word. “Are you, though?” He's been doing this for the last twenty minutes, asking things he thinks are really philosophical, but they mostly make him sound like a child who's just discovered rhetorical questions.

“I think I’m coming down,” says Grantaire with a sigh as he stares up at the ceiling. The ceiling stares back. It probably affects him less because he smokes more often than Enjolras. Is that how it works? Enjolras only smokes when he’s got no responsibilities to think about, when he’s done all his work and his prep because he doesn’t want that hanging over him when he’s trying to relax, and that’s not often. It means when Enjolras does get stoned, he’s a giggly, cutesy, handsy stoned and Grantaire’s definitely not complaining about that.

“Me too,” says Enjolras, the lying liar. “We should smoke some more. I thought you had another one.”

“Maybe?” Grantaire fishes around in his back pocket. He rolled another one earlier, he’s sure, because he pre-rolls them all. He rolls better sober, but when he’s high he thinks he rolls better high, and it’s just – not a good combination. Once, he’d tried to roll an entire eighth. It was kind of like smoking a sausage.

When Grantaire finally pulls it out, it’s a bit squished and bent in the middle, probably from when they tumbled onto the bed. He tries to straighten it, and watches as it drops back over. “Aw, man.”

“S’fine,” says Enjolras, digging in Grantaire’s front pockets for a lighter.

“It doesn’t taste the same after it’s been squashed,” says Grantaire woefully, but Enjolras is already patting it back into shape, squishing filling into the empty spaces and lighting it up. It ends up drooping to the left, a bit like Enjolras’s cock does, except Grantaire doesn’t normally smoke Enjolras’s cock. Well, he puts his mouth on it, but that’s about where the similarities end.

Grantaire inhales as much of a mouthful as he can manage, and then rolls over, pinning Enjolras to the bed. Enjolras’s mouth is already open and waiting as Grantaire climbs onto him and exhales the smoke into his mouth. He sneaks a little tongue in there too.

“You’re gonna be so stoned,” murmurs Grantaire, holding the joint out for Enjolras to take a drag. Enjolras breathes the smoke out over his skin, and Grantaire feels it waft across his neck. It tickles, but in a shuddering, sexy sort of tickle.

Enjolras’s neck is warm and inviting and _right there_ , and Grantaire bites kisses into it as Enjolras moans, and grabs his wrist so he can keep smoking as Grantaire loses himself in the softness of his skin. Enjolras is pretty great. He has skin, and collarbones, and lips that part for Grantaire’s.

The joint seems to go in no time at all, but that’s probably because time keeps drifting away from him when Grantaire makes out with Enjolras and grinds his hips down. Eventually, he pinches the end and tosses it into the mug on the bedside table that serves as an ashtray, and stares down at Enjolras.

Enjolras stretches like a cat, all arched back and tensed muscles, and Grantaire watches his t-shirt slide up over his stomach. “Soft,” he says, smiling stupidly, and reaches out to trace a finger around Enjolras's belly button.

Enjolras squirms and bats him away. “I'm not soft, you're soft,” he says grumpily.

“Nope,” says Grantaire. He says it again, and pops the 'p' this time. “No _pe_. I'm not soft. I'm _hard_.” He waggles his eyebrows, or at least he's fairly sure he does. They might have just crawled off his forehead.

“ _No_ ,” says Enjolras.

“Yesssss,” says Grantaire.

“Nu-uh.”

“Yuh-uh.”

Enjolras reaches out, and pats Grantaire's crotch, “Ooooh. Yuh- _uh_.”

“S'cause you're hot,” says Grantaire, tugging Enjolras forward until he crumples onto Grantaire's chest.

Enjolras nuzzles his cheek across Grantaire's stubble. “We should open the window.”

Rucking a hand under Enjolras's t-shirt so he can spread his hand across his side, Grantaire turns his head into a kiss. “But then the hot will fly away,” he whispers. He doesn't want the hot to fly away.

It’s actually distressing how much he doesn’t want the hot to fly away, but then Enjolras is kissing him, and his lips are soft and squishy and his tongue is warm and wet and trying to make its way into Grantaire’s mouth to meet his tongue so their tongues can touch and grow old together or something…

Kissing Enjolras is really nice. Enjolras curls his fingertips into the sensitive skin of Grantaire’s neck and his belly is flat against Grantaire’s and Grantaire’s got one hand still around Enjolras’s waist, under his t-shirt, and the other one falls nicely over the curve of Enjolras’s arse. Enjolras sucks Grantaire’s lip into his mouth and runs his tongue across it and sparks fizzle all the way down to Grantaire’s cock.

Grantaire’s cock is a happy cock. It’s a bit trapped by his jeans, sure, but just outside his jeans are Enjolras’s jeans, and on the other side of Enjolras’s jeans is probably Enjolras’s underwear... but on the other side of _that_ is Enjolras’s cock. Which, by the way, is hard. He can tell.

Every part of Grantaire’s body feels like it should be hard like his cock is, because that’s how good the kissing is. If his fingers weren’t already hard to start with, they would be hard now.

Enjolras tugs at Grantaire’s t-shirt. “Off!” It comes with an accompanying hand gesture. “Off!” And as if to demonstrate, he shimmies out of his clothes before Grantaire can help.

Well, who is Grantaire to argue? “Offfffff,” he agrees, except then Enjolras can’t stop pawing at his chest for long enough for him to actually get his t-shirt off, and it gets wrapped around Enjolras’s hands and Grantaire’s neck and Enjolras starts to giggle instead.

“You’re no help,” mutters Grantaire from inside his t-shirt cocoon as he tries to figure out why the it won’t come off.

“I am. Lots of help,” says Enjolras, leaning down to lick Grantaire’s nipple, before drawing it into his mouth and toying with it between his teeth. “I am _maximum_ help.”

Grantaire flops against the wall, t-shirt still over his face, and shudders. His nipples aren’t this sensitive normally. It feels great, like, like, a mini penis. Except, that would look really weird on his chest. “I give up. Just do me like this.”

“No, no, no giving up,” insists Enjolras. “We’ve got to be the very best. Like _no one ever was._ ” He says it with absolute sincerity, which means that Grantaire can do nothing but warble the next line as loudly as he can.

“To catch them is our REAL TASK. TO TRAIN THEM IS OUR CAUUUUUUSE – oh, it came off.” Grantaire flings the t-shirt across the room, or possibly straight up into the air.

“Yaaaaay,” says Enjolras, peppering sloppy kisses across his chin and fumbling at Grantaire’s jeans.

“You’re so hot,” says Grantaire in awe, as if it’s his first time seeing Enjolras. Maybe it is. Who really knows? “We should fuck. Like, right now.”

“Yes,” says Enjolras. “I’m _trying_. But buttons.”

“Buttons,” says Grantaire sadly, watching Enjolras try to undo them. “But buttons. Bu’-uns. Butt-ons. Butts. No butts. No butts for us.”

“ _Yes_ butts for us,” says Enjolras determinedly, and bites at the waistband of Grantaire’s jeans. It doesn’t really do anything, obviously, but it seems to make him feel better; the buttons finally, finally come undone and Enjolras scrabbles his jeans and his underwear down at the same time.

“I’m freeeeeeee!” crows Grantaire.

“Yaaaay,” cheers Enjolras, and reaches out with one hand up to ping Grantaire’s cock before dissolving into giggles.

“You’re so weird,” says Grantaire, strangely hypnotised by the sight of his own cock bobbing up and down.

“I am not. I am a sexy _beast_ ,” pronounces Enjolras when he’s finally calmed down enough, even though the occasional stray giggle escapes him. “Rawr.” He makes the cat hands and everything, and giggles all over again. He’s so cute, Grantaire wants to put him in a box. In a box that he can just occasionally open and coo at how cute he is. He’s not sure Enjolras would fit in a box.

During the time Grantaire spend thinking about boxes, Enjolras has managed to fish the lube out of the bedside table, and smeared far too much of it all over his hands. Grantaire only snaps back to attention when he takes Grantaire’s cock in his hand, and slicks him up in about ten seconds flat.

“Sex time! Yaaay!” Enjolras climbs up Grantaire’s body, smacks a sloppy, lubed handprint on Grantaire’s left pec and sits on Grantaire’s stomach expectantly, beaming.

“I can’t fuck you like this,” grouses Grantaire.

Enjolras pouts, and rocks his hips forward, rubbing his cock across Grantaire’s stomach. “Why? Why, Grantaire, why? X. Y. Z. ABCDEFG. G G G G GGGGG...”

“Because,” says Grantaire blinking up at the ceiling. “I forgot.”

“You are so stoned,” whispers Enjolras dramatically, and tries to sit on Grantaire’s cock.

“I am not,” says Grantaire, even as his cock just slides to one side and then up Enjolras’s crack.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” sings Enjolras, trying to reach back and find Grantaire’s cock and most just grabbing at his thigh a lot instead. “My sex is on _fi-yah_.”

“ _Syphilis_ ,” hisses Grantaire, looking around as if syphilis might jump out of the darkness and hit them over the head; Enjolras seems to find that so funny that he chokes on his laughter, and falls sideways off Grantaire instead.

Grantaire rolls over, following him. “ _Syphilissssss_ ,” he says again, just to make Enjolras laugh. Enjolras clutches at him helplessly as he gurgles. “Syphilis, syphilis, syphilis,” he chants, and he can’t even remember what this word means anymore but he’s kissing down each of Enjolras’s ribs until he runs out of ribs and rubs his cheek against the coarse hair below Enjolras’s navel instead. “Sniffilis, stiffilis, swiff swiff swiffilis. Stiff,” he says approvingly at Enjolras’s cock, and noms at it.

“Om nom nom,” says Grantaire, except not really because he can’t talk very well when he’s got a mouthful of cock.

“Om nom nom,” says Enjolras somewhere above him. He’s all laughed out, and drapes himself dramatically across the bed in exhaustion instead. “Grantaire, let’s om nom nom. Let’s om the nom nom. Nom the om? Om nom the – oh my _god_ _never mind_ –”

Grantaire indeed, has been never-minding what Enjolras says because right now he has Enjolras’s cock in his mouth, sliding it as far in as he can, and if there is one thing that Grantaire is good at, it is cock sucking. He is _ready_ for this, he is _pumped and ready_ and he is going to be so good at cockingsucking that Enjolras is gonna give him a medal, preferably a gold one though really he wouldn’t say no to a green one or a purple one or one made out of glitter either.

The weed makes everything more amazing. He can feel the folds in Enjolras’s skin, and the soft fuzz of hair on his thighs beneath his hands. His tongue is so sensitive, like all his tastebuds have sprouted tastebuds that have sprouted tastebuds that have sprouted – sprouts, maybe.

He can feel every twitch of Enjolras’s muscles, and every deep, aching groan that Enjolras makes is like fuel to the fire, the fire in his loins, the fire in – in – Grantaire pulls his head up, and blurts out, “FIRE!”

Enjolras just looks down at him as if he hadn’t heard what Grantaire just yelled, eyes glazed over and mouth parted, hair going in every which way, and Grantaire’s brain shorts out again. “Don’t stop,” moans Enjolras and oh, okay, Grantaire can’t even remember why he pulled up now.

“No stopping,” he says dumbly and goes back down until Enjolras is gasping again. Enjolras is _really hard_ and he lasts for ages, or possibly five minutes because Grantaire can’t actually tell time when everything feels so good. At some point he reaches down to jerk himself off, only remembering that there’s half cooled, half dried lube on him when he touches it.

“You feel so good,” Grantaire tries to say, and he’s forgotten again that he can’t talk when his mouth his full so it mostly comes out as a languid hum instead, and Enjolras’s hips shudder underneath him. So Grantaire does it again. Starts out with a tuneless hum; somewhere along the way it turns into the tune of Greensleeves and then morphs into Auld Lang Syne.

Enjolras’s hands fist into Grantaire’s curls as he thrusts up into his mouth, and Grantaire loses track of the humming after that because Enjolras is squeaking high pitched little breaths of air which means he’s probably about to come soon, so Grantaire rubs the flat of his tongue across Enjolras’s slit, tastes the leaked precome, and runs a finger lightly around Enjolras’s arsehole because he is the best boyfriend, he is _maximum_ boyfriend as Enjolras would say, and he knows these things get Enjolras off.

“Grantaire,” gasps Enjolras. “Grantaire, Grantaire, oh my _god hhnnnrrrgh_ –” He chokes off the end of what he’s trying to say as Grantaire pulls back, substitutes his hand for his mouth and jerks Enjolras off for that last little bit until Enjolras bucks off the bed entirely and screams.

Come goes fucking _everywhere_ , all over Grantaire’s hand and his chest and his _face_ and there’s probably some in his hair too and it is the hottest fucking thing ever, it’s amazing, Enjolras is amazing and sexy and wrung out and Grantaire just wanks himself off with no finesse whatsoever, just the rough skin of his palm against his skin as hard and fast as he can until he can feel his orgasm swell up – and out.

“Holy shit,” breathes Grantaire. “Holy fucking shit.”

“No shit,” says Enjolras dopily. “Just orgasms.”

“Nnnnnnrgh,” says Grantaire, toppling forward onto Enjolras with a long groan. It kind of feels like all his energy and high went shooting out the end of his cock as well as copious amounts of come. He feels _exhausted_ and _amazing_. “I love you,” he says, too tired to move even though he’s lying half on Enjolras.

“I love you too,” says Enjolras, voice already going muzzy. “I love you like pancakes. We should have... pancakes.”

“We should definitely have pancakes,” says Grantaire. “But I can’t feel my toes. Or my legs... Or my – my –”

Somewhere on his right, Enjolras whuffles softly, having passed out in the last five seconds. “Goddamnit, Enjolras,” says Grantaire sadly. “You gave me the munchies. You gave me the munchies and then _passed out_. I hate you. I don’t hate you, I love you really. I love you more than pancakes, which is more than you can say, you bastard.”

Pausing for breath, Grantaire tries to decide if he has the strength of mind to get up and clean himself off, and also Enjolras because there is a lot of spunk on Enjolras’s body that’s just kind of smeared between them; alternatively, he could just lick it all off, but he’s not sure licking would be less effort than getting up and grabbing a wet cloth and coming back. His stomach gurgles. “Goddamnit, fuck you. I really want pancakes now.”

Enjolras just snores at him.

**Author's Note:**

> Songs quoted are the Pokemon theme tune, the alphabet song and Sex on Fire (Kings of Leon). A symptom of syphilis is an itchy, burning feeling, hence the association with sex... being... on fire. *cough*
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://defractum.tumblr.com)!


End file.
